Opening Ceremonies 2029
Summary: The opening ceremonies for the 2029 Olympics, held on the planet Nepsa! Nepsan Judgment Of Character Torch Leading off from the statue is a clearing upon which an ornate circular platform rises, carved from ice. In the centre is a huge torch wrought in solid iron. Upon the base is inscribed: "THE ETERNAL FLAME OF NEPSAN JUDGMENT OF CHARACTER - SO LONG AS THIS FLAME BURNS WE SHALL TREAT ALL PEOPLE WITH THE DIGNITY AND RESPECT THEY DESERVE." Next to the torch stands the Guardian of the Flame, a shabby looking Nepsan with a pony-tail and wearing a wifebeater. He lounges about smoking cigarettes and playing shooting games on his iPhone. The flame has been extinguished for some time. Six Lasers knows how to put on a show. A classy show. The sky is clear, the winds are minimal, and a light snowfall the day before has blanketed the area in several inches of fine white snowy powder. Giant balloons of various Six Lasers animal mascots float above the breeze on this cold Nepsan day. Jet fighters fly by, expelling the Six Lasers colours in their exhaust to the strained lyrics of Eye Of The Tiger played at avalanche-inducing decibels. They have to play it this loud, or else the eye-searing fireworks display would drown it out. Television camera drones whiz by at all angles, zooming in on anyone who might be a celebrity. They take photos of the arrivals from two feet away, and show no shame in invading people's personal space. Bleachers have been set up around the great Nepsan Judgment Of Character Torch (currently unlit), and scores of people line the crowds. Some are familiar looking, and others are exotic bizarro aliens. Is that ALF you see sharing a toast with the alien from the Predator series? It may be, for 95% of the people here are piss drunk. The Nepsan Honour Guard is out in full force, protecting both the Statue of the Hero and the Torch. They struggle to look like they're paying attention even as they shift their wife beater t-shirts and plastic Super Soakers around. One of them stifles a yawn while another pair chat about that hot alien babe in the first row. Two of them are hung over, and one looks like he's considering putting a few bullets into the crowd just for giggles. The last member of the Honour Guard is trying to be discreet as he rearranges his junk, hoping nobody notices him in the process. Merchants of all varieties mingle in with the crowd, trying to hock Good Luck Charms (guaranteed to give you success at the Olympics), Cotton Candy (guaranteed not to give you lead poisoning), and official Olympic Mascot Kremzeek Plushies (guaranteed not to feature in a piss-poor episode). Yes, the spirit of the Olympics is in good hands. Impulse paces about, a bit seperately from the other assembled Autobots. This is something he's never done before -- compete in the Olympics. Even a decade ago, when he was around Earth as Slipstream, he never competed. So here he is... and surprisingly, he was pulled aside by some officials. He listened, golden optics flickering, then nods and follows them. Redshift is a bit miffed at being forced to share the honor with an Autobot, a fact that was kept from him until the last possible moment. Redshift's expression is crumpled with frustration, having to share what should be HIS and his alone. He waits for the signal from the official-looking aliens to begin the ceremony, quickly trying to think of a way to ditch the Autobot while he's at it. Sky Lynx is also staying away from the main crowd, he is perhaps a bit large to be in the major stream of aliens, cybertronians, and what nots. This was perhaps the last day he walk in his 'normal' armor. For the main events, even his arena battle, he is going to change up a bit after talking to some old comrades to some armor he hasn't worn since before the Great War. As he watches everything and everyone, he takes note of Impulse, but for now, keeps to himself as he continues to watch, his gold optical band flickers gently. Hobo has rather discretely climbed all the way to th top of the bleachers, perching precariously on the very highest point overlooking the ceremonies below. From a distance, it might just look nothing more than a pile of rags inadvertently left behind by one of the various aliens milling about. Vector WX3 is just wandering around the crowd, waiting for the show to start. It's been a long time since he saw that many different races assembled at the same place. The autobot is rather curious and he tries to look at everything at the same times...it looks pretty much like a kid in a candy store. Wheelie sits quietly beside Silverbolt... ...unusual for the vocal minibot. Impulse arrives, just looking at Redshift for a moment. Then he shrugs. "Whatever's good for the Olympics," he murmurs. He's not wild about it either -- although his reasons stem more from two million years of torture and experimentation, courtesy of the Decepticon Empire. He moves over to the torch, taking hold of it and then turning to let Redshift take hold as well. He could care less if Redshift wants to try and one-up his hand position so that his hand is higher than the old speedster's. One of the outstanding mechaatheletes chosen for the glorious honor of carrying the legendary Eternal flame of Nepsan Judgment of Character for Treating all People With Dignity And Respect They Deserve is the former-Olympic gold medalist, the Decepticon Redshift! He grips the fabulously flaming torch in his steel hands, grabbing it above Impulse's hand. His lip curls up in a silent snarl as the highly competitive red 'con is forced to work with this slow Autobot. One of those guys in a mascot costume (Kremzeek, of course) makes his way to the centre podium. He must be roughly humanoid, for the costume has two arms and two legs, but beyond that it's impossible to tell what the person inside looks like. He waves to the crowd. "Hello!" he shouts into the microphone. There's about ten seconds of microphone feedback squeal which threatens to kill anyone sitting too close to one of the speakers. The speakers use special so that everyone can understand what he's saying. Kremzeek waits patiently for another round of 48 jet fighters to blow past the bleachers. A few people on the upper level are sucked into the jet engines. Four months from now, in court, the Six Lasers legal team will prove that they all had heart conditions and/or were pregnant and failed to read the warning before sitting down in the bleachers. "Welcome to Olympic Games! First year to be held at Six Lasers! Woo yeah, yay!" Kremzeek pumps his fist a few times. "Woo! Yay hooray! We here to promote peace. We do this by having giant killer robots killer each other. Is grand cause for celebration!" The crowd goes wild. "Now let us hear it for Autobot fast guy and Decfeticon fast guy. They bring in the torch for us." Kremzeek claps for Redshift and Impulse. The Kremzeek costume maintains the permanent grin on its face. Whoever is in there, he is having a great time watching two mortal enemies bring in the torch. Ramjet stands on Galvatron's right, blocky arms folded over his canopied chest. His cone turned to the side, watching the procession with limited interest. Unlike Sky Lynx, the Air Commander spares no expense at looking well. The occasional Nepsan wind will slither past the Decepticon, giving the rich red cape secured to his shoulders a brilliant tousel. The cape, sewn into plated pauldrons fringed in gold chainmail, are locked kept together with a link of gold chain running across the top of his canopy. Ramjet's medals -- of which they are EXTENSIVE -- hang over the slant of metal just above his right chest-intake. His optics suddenly squint as he presses his cone forward, fixating at some red and black disgruntled mess. "Oh look," he mentions to Galvatron and points a finger at the sight. "It's Redshift. I, uh, take no responsibility for his claims to treat these Nepsan scum with 'dignity' and 'respect,' my Lord." The Air Commander grimaces at the words, "Hnh. How.. uh... what's my WORD!" Ramjet SHOUTS as he turns his cone to the side, leading with his right shoulder to allow a dynamic flap of his cape. Behind him is an orange Decepticon who holds a datapad and shudders. "Uh.. vexillology, Air Commander," coughs Sunstorm. Ramjet's optics flicker, "..vexillology?" Sunstorm nods smartly, "Yes, sir. It means the study of flags." "..nnh." Ramjet sours. He then turns away to stand proper next to Galvatron. "How.. interesting. Perhaps my Space Attack Commander has taken up VEXILLOLOGY and taught these wretched Nepsans a thing or two about FLAGS." He suddenly looks pleased with himself, thrusting his conetip into the air with an extension of his 'neck.' He bobs his cone and mentions to Galvatron. "Word of the day, O Terrible One. I've made an effort to improve Aerospace by strengthening our vocabulary to further your Great Will, uh.. Great One." Sky Lynx cants his head as he stops to notice Impulse give the torch to Redshift and can't help but chuckle gently to himself. Oh what irony this was--- Scrapper strolls in with Scavenger, shoving any smaller aliens out of the way as they tromp through the snow. "And so Skywarp stands up, and he's completely sloshed when he does this, right, and he belts out as loud as he can 'Well the Autobot can stay, but the oil pan has to go!!!' AH HA HA HA HA HA HA HA!" Scrapper slaps Scavenger on the back. He's looking kind of sloshed himself, as there's a keg of oil in Scrapper's other hand. He's 'leading' Scavenger in a random direction, which happens to be roughly towards the bleachers. Every step Scrapper takes buries him ankle-deep in snow, but he doesn't seem to notice or care. He also isn't really going in a straight line. Redshift glares at Impulse. "'Autobot fast guy', huh? I suppose that means I'll see /you/ at the race later." He says quietly through gritted teeth. "But all you'll see of /me/ is my /dust/, Autobot." With the nessasary gloating done with, Redshift put on his best smile, because there are going to be cameras! got to show his best face for the crowds of intergalactic creatures watching and betting. Without waiting for Impulse, he starts to trot across the open space between here and the big official torch thing! Time to light up that fatty! "Yeah, yeah, whatever, kid," is the grumbled reply from the geriatric speedster known as Impulse. "Whatever." Fortunately, though, Impulse is ready to move as well, moving with Redshift towards the place where the Eternal Flame is to be lit. Galvatron's eyes are on the Eternal Flame being brought toward the stage. As Ramjet speaks to him, he doesn't turn his head or even glance over. He just mutters slowly, "The... truce... does... not... apply... to... me... shooting... Decepticons." Ramjet bobs his cone in a nod. He completely understands Galvatron in this. "Of course, my Lord. I will inform Redshift to cease any and all attempts at acting like Governor Airwolf if he still wishes to function after tonight." Behind Ramjet, Sunstorm takes two.. steps... back. Silverbolt has his arms crossed in the bleachers and chuckles lightly at the obvious display Redshift is doing. "I see RedShift hasn't changed. Still the same suck up as ever." "Hoorah!" Kremzeek says, clapping his hands together as Redshift and Impulse make their way to the eternal flame of Nepsan judgment of character. The Nepsan Honour Guard snap to attention, straightening up and watching the Autobot fast guy and Decepticon fast guy carefully in case either of them need to be put down like a rabid dog. "Now we light eternal flame of Nepsan judgment of character!" the man in the Kremzeek costume shouts. The crowd cheers. Someone throws a beer bottle at Kremzeek, but the mascot cheerfully ducks it. One of the Honour Guard is hit instead, and falls into the snow without a trace. Taking an agile hop back to the podium, Kremzeek taps his foot at the pair. "Ok, ok, hurry up with lighting. Is not so important, and time is wasting. Then we have a speech by Galvatron about Nepsan judgment of character. Save race for fire pits. You will need all that speed to avoid burning on fire planet during race. Ha ha! ha?" Shawn Berger has arrived. "Whoa, whoa, I love you too, Scavenger," Scrapper replies. "Tol... totally in non-homomechual way." Scrapper suddenly stops. "Whoa!" he takes a guzzle from the oil can. How he does this without a mouth is a mystery for the ages. He stares at Redshift and Impulse as they head for the torch. "Redshift is fighting Blurr! Frak! Th.. the race already started!? Whoa, it's /cold/ for a fire planet... come on, Redshift!" Scrapper cheers the Decepticon speedster along. "You can do it! Beat that Autobot sissy! Beat him good! Optic of the Predacon, Redshift! Optic of the Predacon!" Galvatron was going to make the speech? Sky Lynx's optical band flickered once more as he heard that and shook his head, muttering softly. "Oh-- this outa be good." He found himself a nice spot to sit down in the snow and out of the walking path of most. His tail curled around his legs as he continued to watch the events unfold. Something told him that this Olympics might have been one he should have stayed away from. Redshift offers Impulse one last glare, but hs keeps his mouth shut now that they're on camera. He tightens his grip on the torch, and plunges the brightly burning torch into the heart of the big official torch, and leaps back, anticipating a massive woosh of flames or an explosion or something. They should havel it it with space lasers, that would've been cool. Impulse continues moving with Redshift, finally approaching the brazier where the Eternal Flame would be lit. He glances at Redshift again, shaking his head slowly, then moving to light the larger torch. He moves back, even as Redshift jumps back, as if he's thinking the Autobot will wind up scorched from the flames as they alight. Given that he spent millions of years on a desert planet that would kill humans in a matter of minutes from the temperature, though, Impulse isn't too worried. Ramhorn trudges in late. Surprise surprise sur... what the hell is that thing on his head? Silverbolt chuckles as Redshift jumps back. "oooo....that'll cost him some brownie points." The torch in Redshift and Impulse's hands are plunged into the Nepsan Judgment of Character Torch. Rather than a large explosion or burst of fire, the flame that springs forth is weak and small. It flickers for a few seconds before getting extinguished. One of the Honour Guard rushes up with a lighter and tries to light it again. When this fails, he takes out some matches. The first one has no luck, so he strikes up a second one. The crowd is still cheering anyway. The guy in the Kremzeek pretends like everything is fine. "Is beautiful flame, yes? So long as this flame burns we treat all people with dignity and respect they deserve! Now we have a talk from Galvatron. Hooray Galvatron! Tell us about peace and judging of character." Kremzeek preemptively adjusts the microphone to be way higher and then moves to the side so the Decepticon High Commander can take the podium. Shawn Berger appears to be up in a VIP box with some Nepsan reporters. He's wearing that ridiculously out of date costume--complete with top hat--that HIS FATHER wore way back during the ill-fated Decepticon Day back in the 80's. He looks pleased as a peach. And how is it that he can stay warm on this frigid planet? Easy, Turtler, a gumby cassetticon that is a turtle, is "standing" right behind him, with an electric space heater--plugged into the turtle himself--going at full power. Blot suddenly stands up from where he's been 'chilling' in a snowbank. He's god D-Pod earbuds in his ears and he begins chanting, "DNANAAA NANAA NAANANANA NAAA! KATAMARI DECEPITOOOOOONS!" He claps his hands several times and begins to make a snowball. "DANANANAAA NANAA NANANAAA! OLMYPIC SWEEP FOR DECEPIT... Decrepi... Hey?" He looks around for some familiar Decepticon faces. "Who are we again?" Once he relinquishes the torch, Impulse returns towards the stands, though he winds up actually moving to stand beside Sky Lynx. "Well... hasn't /this/ been grand so far?" he asks, turning around to face the stage once more. And... Galvatron. How amusing. Then again, it's not like Rodimus Prime or Ultra Magnus are here to give the speech. Galvatron stands, marching forward toward the podium, his body language stiff and dictatorial. Gripping the edges of the top of the podium, he surveys the crowd for a long moment, slowly turning his head to look the masses over with burning red eyes. His face is set into a scowl. "Peace," Galvatron says, his intonation shark, his voice like razors slowly rusting. "Peace is a joke." Galvatron lets the comment hang, staring grimly forward, raising his hands to gesticulate as he speaks. "Peace is a myth for children and cretins to cling to, to hope for, to pray for, to convince themselves that there is something better than themselves. Peace is a myth. The only superior concept that exists... is Galvatron." He sneers, pausing again. "As leader of the Decepticons, I declare that those who seek peace are forever fated to /waste/ their lives. You will be crushed under the wheels of our mighty engine -- we will consume you and you will praise our names for it. Just as we will throttle the life from every event in this /farce/ of a 'truce.' When the Olympics are over... the Decepticons shall stand victorious! And from Olympic conquest... to conquest of the galaxy! And /none/ shall be /spared/ from my /wrath/ lest they /submit/!" Galvatron steps back from the podium, thrusting his fists into the air. Ramjet SIGHS at Blot. "Decepticons, Blot. We're the Decepticons. Now quick, thrust your arm ... or.. whatever it is you call /that/ into the air and cheer before Galvatron sees we aren't and shoots us." He thrusts his fist in the air and hoots, "HOOAH! HOOAH! HOOAH!" Shawn Berger double-takes, but quickly recovers and applauds politely. He's sure Galvatron was just talking tough. Yeah, that's it. Sky Lynx looks to Impulse and grunts gently, "I have a feeling this olympics will not be a very honorabl one." The large draconic mech looks out over the field, then to the flame. "Then again, I suppose it is good thing that for this time period, I am wearing-- some of my older armor." Which he will have equiped by tomorrow. Then when galvatron makes his speed, Sky Lynx lowly growls, his claws dig into the snow and he has to hold back yelling something sharply out toward the decepticon leader, only whispers silently in a hiss, "..not if this guardian has anything to say on that..." Blot begins to clap more enthusiastically. "BLOT LOVE ROUSING SPEECH! BLOT LOVE BIG WORDS HE NOT KNOW! GALVATRON IS SO DREAMY!" He shoops. He whoops. He beats his breast. It is epic and terrible. Redshift has found himself a seat in the stands, amongst the best-of-the-best in Aerospace. He snatches a mug of warmly-glowing energon from one of the flunkies. He lifts his mug in praise of Galvatron's speech, even tgough it wasn't all that good. But hey, when in rome. "Huh, I hope the race starts soon, I'm itchin' for a winnin'." "Guardian?" asks Cliffjumper, seated next to Sky Lynx. "I don't see Omega Supreme around, where are you seein' him?" "BOO!" Bumblebee's voice calls out after Galvatron. He looks about and moves to see if he can find anyone he knew. "So...Where is everyone..." He wonders outloud as he walks about, unsure if he was walking into something or not. Scrapper and Scavenger's blind wanderings have taken them roughly in the direction of the other Decepticons. Scrapper stops in front of Blot. "Woo yeah!" he shouts, spilling some of his kegger. "Decrepticons forever!" He hoists the keg up into the air, waving it around. Either that or his entire body is waving around. Scrapper is having trouble standing upright at this point. "We win the race! Hail Galvatron!" Impulse chuckles quietly. "Oh, I fully expect we'll see some of it tonight. Redshift seems a bit too confident for his own good... so I figure there's already some treachery at work, at least in the minds of some." He shrugs. "And don't worry about Galvatron -- he's talking out of his aft, the same as always." Another soft chuckle. "I mean, if he was so all-powerful... why does he keep losing?" Catechism is in the background, being a generic Seeker. She does that. Blot blinks at Redshift. He becomes solemn and silent for a long time. When he thinks no one is looking he casually sidles up beside Redshift and passes him a slime crusted plastic bottle of GOLD BOND MEDICATED POWDER. Blot offers a knowing glance and then confusedly asks, "BLOT need to KNOW where the Penguin skins are? DO YOU KNOW?" Redshift catches Ramjet's attention. He glances over his chainmail-fringed shoulder pauldron to the smaller, but effective, Space Attack Commander. Reaching past the hem of his cape, Ramjet beckons Redshift close with a c'mere flick of his finger. The guy in the Kremzeek mascot outfit waits patiently for Galvatron to finish his speech. He makes a grand show of pretending to inspect his nails while the Decepticon tyrant talks and threatens everyone. Once it looks like Galvatron is wrapping up, Kremzeek claps politely. The plastic grin can't grin, but it still suits the demeanor with which the host carries himself. Kremzeek starts to move back towards the podium, but sees that Galvatron hasn't really gotten off the stage yet, and so he's forced to make discreet 'shoo' motions to the Decepticon leader. There's more ceremony to open, after all! Hobo rests his head on his forepaws in a rather weary fashion, peering down as Galvatron delivers his speech. "And thus the Blackened Soul did preach his words of conquest and hate. And all around they did applaud and cheer, for at this point in time they did not know true fear..." he rambles, almost mournfully. Focus sits atop the stands, looking at nothing in particular. A small cup is in his hands as he listens to the goings on down below. Sadly, he's in the top of the decepticon stands, having found a spot in the wrong stands. Sky Lynx grunts gently as apparently Cliffjumper doesn't keep up with information but that is fine. The gold optical band flickers softly as he looks to Impulse, "Indeed--" Then he hear Hobo and hrms softly, taking what the smaller autobot preecher has to say. "..if you all excuse me.." The large mech then stood up and moved out further from the site, his body stiffened in frustration toward these events. If Galvatron thought he could rule over Cybertron-- and the galaxy or that matter, he had another thing comming.. Catechism thinks she hears a familiar voice. Catechism drifts off in the direction of said voice, slowly, slowly. Backing away from the podium further, Galvatron snarls and turns toward the torch. "DECEPTICONS!" he howls, loud enough that he can somehow still be heard. "TO /VICTORY/!" Galvatron then raises his cannon and fires on the torch. The gas being fed to the torch bursts into flame, fusion cannon output giving the fire a healthy steroidal boost. Galvatron has lit the Torch of Judgment of Character: Let the games begin! Oh, and he fires again, this time into the open air, just because. As Ramjet waits for Redshift to come closer, the Air Commander catches the enormous chassis of Sky Lynx moving away. "Thank X'al he's leaving," he tells no one in particular. His cone shakes slightly, his face set into a look of pure disgust. "I've heard the sheer /thought/ of triplechangers, much less ones that resemble /animals/, is a blaspheme against Primus. How repulsive of a creature!" Bumblebee continues to run about and when Galvatron fires his shot, he just scoffs. He then walks about to find something to do. Blot hollers. "BLOT LOVE GAMES! BLOT ALWAYS GET TO CANDYLAND FIRST!" The guy in the Kremzeek mascot outfit reclaims the podium from the Decepticon tyrant, sneaking his way in there even as shots are fired. "Ha ha, is good speech by Galvatron! Yay peace! Torch of peace is lit. Nicely done!" He gives a thumbs up, raising questions about whether he listened to what Galvatron had to say or not. Kremzeek presses both hands on the podium and leans on it slightly, as if what he's about to say next is of grave importance (obviously, it is not). "Now we not get Rodimus. He busy! We not get Ultra Magnus. He busy too! But we get next best thing." Kremzeek makes a grand sweeping motion with one of his hands towards... "We have Wheelie! Yeah Wheelie!" Kremzeek claps. And the crowd goes wild. Redshift passes Blots his empty tankard. "Here, Blot, have a snack." He says, before heading up to meet Ramjet, whom he sees is ecked out in chainmail and gold. "So, looking forward to the upcoming events, air Commander?" Redshift says, with his ever-present smirk. "We should have our first gold medal of the year before this day is out." Ramjet slides his hand out as if to motion for Redshift to dummy up for a space second. His cone tilts to the side to advise him in a quiet manner, "Galvatron told me to tell you this truce doesn't include him shooting you. So knock off the pretendy Autobot nonsense. It offends the Emperor. You know what happens when he's offended." His cone bobs with an emphasis on the direness of the situation, "You become another Optimus Prime. Kkkck." Ramjet makes the sound as he runs his hand past his 'throat.' "Other than this. I assume you intend on entering the footrace?" Shawn Berger snorts, and decides to enertain himself by munching on some fries while he waits for his turn to speak. Yes, he's going to speak. Primus save us all. His role complete, Galvatron stalks off to his skybox, not even waiting to hear Wheelie's speech. Truly, he has been blessed with the Olympic spirit this year. Blot is overjoyed as he is presented with the empty tankard. It devours it in two crunchy bites. "MMMM! Taste like broken home!" Wheelie approaches the podium, obviously nervous about making a formal speech about the whole Nepsan judgement of character... ...or maybe he's nervous about following Galvatron's savage declaration of Decepticon dominion. The mini-bot shoots a little scowl towards Galvatron as he prepares to deliver the speech. He fiddles with a stack of papers in his hands, all jumbled together in some sort of random method. The orange boy-bot complies however, standing up on the stool provided him by a helpful drone. The survivorist gulps audibly into the microphone, *GULP* before his speech begins. "Here ye, here ye; Four scores ago... ...we are gathered here... ...oh no.... ...Wrong speech... ..." Wheelie shuffles with the papers in front of him, trying to locate the right one. His mouth bursts forth with a smile, holding up a wrinkled piece of yellow parchment. Some notes that Perceptor had jotted down for him... ...to make sure he doesn't /completely/ screw this up. "How does one judge... ...without holding a grudge? One's worth can not be described, by mere words and speeches... ...but one's actions speak more to character than any of these aforementioned features." If the Autobot could sweat, beads of the liquid he would excrete would be falling from his brow... ...forming a large puddle beneath the speaker. "I degress, the purpose of these games are peace... ah screw this noise... Perceptor's speech is very daft, Wheelie can make up better speech from my aft!" Wheelie proceeds to tear up the note that was given to him, making quite a mess. "Compete and win, spin around and toss a javelin. Race by foot or throw a shot put. Soar through the air, or swim through the water... ...if you dare! Tumble and rumble with fellow comrade, or sit in the corner all sad. Crummy Galv-butt make speech to long, so listen up to Wheelie's jovial song!" With that, he jumps up on the podium - hitting a button that starts to jam out some hip-hop beats and dances a jig, thrusting his arms in the air like he... ...just doesn't care! "Above all, HAVE FUN! When it's all said and done, everyone's won!" Ramhorn's optics cross in dizzyness and he falls down. Ramjet looks from Wheelie to Blot. Then from Blot to Wheelie. Then from Wheelie to Blot. His expression sours. Not even the Air Commander can tell which is worse. "YAY! GO WHEELIE!!!" Bumblebee cheers out to Wheelie as he begins to walk closer to the podium so Wheelie can know he was cheering. Redshift frowns a bit at Ramjet's words. "WHAT pretendy Autobot stuff? Carrying the torch? THat's just a bit of extra publicity." He really doesn't have any idea what the air Commander is talking about. He flags down a serving wenchbot, motioning for some drinks to be brought over. He does his best to ignore the painful grating sounds of Wheelie's speech. "YEAH WHEELIE!" Cliffjumper calls. Silverbolt chuckles at Wheelie. "well what do you know? Wheelie's speech WAS better. I might be biased too." Scrapper scowls inwardly at Wheelie's spech. He glances down at his keg of oil, muttering, "I'm going to need some more to make it through this solar cycle, mechs! I'm going to need a lot more!" Blot gives Ramjet a sour look, "YOU CAN'T HAVE NONE!" he cries stuffing the handle of the tankard into his mouth and then lunging to grab some more discarded cups off of the ground, stuffing them into his face as fast as he can. "NONE FOR RAMJETS!" Focus just tunes it out by shutting down his audio receptors. He takes a sip from the small cup in his hands and wonders why all the autobots sound so far away...well, he just turned off his ears afterall. Wheelie continues to bust out some dance moves while he's got the 'spotlight'. Booming out, "And if you bots just don't care... ...just wave your arms in the air." He starts waving his arms around frantically, "Ain't no party like an Autobot party, cause an Autobot party don't stop!" *THWACK* Ramjet's hand collides with his forehead. He then looks to Redshift. "Redshift, did you bring a sniper-rifle? I'm about to give our race a proper cleansing..." Silverbolt is too busy chuckling to comment on Wheelie now. Kremzeek listens to Wheelie's speech. He doesn't even bat an eye as Wheelie changes things up several times part way through. The costume isn't capable of batting eyes, anyway. The mascot/host makes his way back to the podium, which Wheelie is still getting jiggy on. Kremzeek pretends not to notice him. "Good!" he applauds. "Wheelie has captured spirit of the games. Throwing things and hitting things and dancing. Very good Wheelie! I liked the speech. Six Lasers is now proud to introduce member of Earth royalty. Berger King is going to make a speech for us. Hooray Berger!" Kremzeek moves aside so that Shawn Berger can take the stand. "You will have a tough time beating the previous two speeches," he warns the man in a jovial tone of voice. Impulse shakes his head, moving up into the stands for the moment and waiting to hear whatever is coming up next. Like-- His head snaps up, and his optics narrow. Oh, isn't /this/ just grand? Catechism squints as the Bergermeister takes the stand. This could be good... or horrible. Wheelie doesn't comply by stepping down... ...or even noticing that his time is up. He is still dancing on top of the podium, starting in on a break-dance routine. Hobo continues to mutter away like some crazy old man, as if re-telling some story from long ago yet strangely just as apt for this very moment in time. "Others did speak to those gathered there. Some were just, with just a hint of flair. And yet for every one who's inetentions were gold, there were two more who's souls were freezing cold. And in the prescence of one and all, there waited another, waiting for the call." A giant hooked cane slowly creeps towards Wheelie. "WHEELIE WATCH OUT! A CANE!" Bumblebee yells to try and warn his friend! Kremzeek's mascot eyes gleam at the giant hook that's creeping towards Wheelie. Despite being in a costume, the host manages to wink at the crowd as it draws closer and closer to the minibot. Catechism sneak-sneak-sneaks closer to Hobo, like a crazed psycho killer. Sunder is standing around in the crowd, watching all the goings on with bemused interest. He wonders idly if any would break the ceasefire/peace rule. Wheelie is 'ripped' off-stage by a giant hooked cane. Sky Lynx does manage to hear Hobo and moves over to the preecher. "..who was waiting for the call?" Yes, he does catch the Seeker slowly sneeking in, but does nothing-- yet. Redshift's smirk takes on a slightly murderous cast. "I've always got my gauss rifle, never leave home without it." He says, gesturing to one of the firearms maglocked to his wings. "Not as accurate at long ranges as a proper sniper rifle, but it'll get the job done." He replies, and ahh, here are the drinks! He takes one and offers Ramjet the other, while looking arouns for a certain B1-Lancer he'd rather be sharing drinks with. DepthCharge sits amongst the stands, watching the voice of the Autobots give a speech, sing and dance. You can take your Emperors and do what you like.. but you have to give the Autobots points for being funky! And as the saying goes, it ain't mean a thing if it ain't got that swing. Surely this promises to be a good Olympics for the Autobots. They'll surely master the Karaoke event. Ramjet gives Redshift such a look as he takes a drink in his hand instead of a sniper rifle. "If you intend on getting anywhere in this Empire, Executor, I highly suggest you bring a sniper-rifle for when impromptu Autobot executions are needed." He says this with a narrow of his optics and the formation of a scowl. Looking back down to the main event, Ramjet takes a quick swig before watching. He grumbles softly, giving his cone another shake. The opportunity to kill Wheelie completely dashed. Damn this lack of good help! Shawn Berger shovels the last few fries into his maw, then turns towards Turtler. "Ah, excuse me, Decepticon? Yes, I'm going to make my speech now, if you could escort me down there." Turtler slowly looks up at Berger, nods, then, the space heater on his back shuts off, and handles extend from the top of it. Turtler then makes a gesture with his head, indicating Berger should move in his direction. "Huh? You... want me to get on board?" Berger says, looking doubtfully at the turtle. After Turtler nods, Berger stands on top of the Decepticon's shell, and grabs onto the handles. "Well, you're not very fast," Berger muses, "this probably will take a while to--OH SHI--" Suddenly, Turtler pulls his head and flippers into his shell, and begins to spin like crazy thanks to rockets firing out of where his limbs used to be. Gradually, the turtle lifts up into the air, spinning faster and faster, and hovers over towards the dais. Berger, of course, is screaming in terror the entire time. Upon reaching the podium, Turtler comes to a gradual stop upon the lectern, where a shaky, wobbly Berger fumbles for the mike, eventually grabbing a human sized one. He takes a few minutes to recover, then gasps, "Ah, thank you, thank you! Ah, gathered... species." Regaining his composure at last, he says, "Ahem, as Earth's official representative of the planet and of my entire species, it gives me great pride to thank the Decepticons for rescuing me from the clutches of the Autobots. You see, the Decepticons, unlike the Autobots, respect property rights. The Autobots stole my land from me and I have no recourse to get it back! However, I am sure that Galvatron, in his infinite wisdom, will help me reclaim what is rightfully mine. After all, it is only fair. But why do I mention this? Because you see, I am not the only human who has been wronged by the Autobots!" He stamps his foot on the lectern, which is horribly out of scale compared to him. "Oh, no! By my estimates, MILLIONS of acres of land all over America has been seized by the US Government under eminent domain, and given to their co-conspirators, the Autobots! The government won't help us, because they're directly responsible for it, so who will!?" He points at Galvatron. "He will! He will make my great country fair again, no matter what it takes, I'm sure of it! He will do undo what the Autobots have done! And I am proud to lead the human race in giving its full to the Decepticon cause! May we have many victories in these Olympics, and show the galaxy what the Decepticons are made of! Thank you!" He curtsies in a grandiloquent fashion, and waits for applause. Bumblebee hears the speech and yells out. "BOO!!" He yells as he finds some rotten tomato in the garbage can nearby and chucks one for shawn berger. Focus gives none for the human. Since he does not deserve it. Granted, he hasn't clapped for anyone yet, so at the very least, he's being all inclusive. He takes another sip from his cup and continues listening. Soundwave transforms from out of nowhere, standing somewhere in the midst of the Decepticon forces. Sneaky walkmen. Catechism applauds Berger. Eh, why not? Sky Lynx watches Hobo, but sees what Bumblebee does and ducks his hea d gently-- this was.. going to be just /splendid/... Silverbolt doesn't clap at all. Instead he drinks some energon from a mug.....and belches loudly. "Ha ha ha!" Kremzeek says, walking back up to the podium. "Looks like the Berger King had a bit too much turtle. Ha ha ha! Ok, anyway, now that crazy nonsense from Earth royalty is out of way, we can go and consider these games to be started." The host with the most looks over at the flame that Galvatron lit up. It's starting to die out again, but one of the Honour Guard is valiantly attempting to save it with liberal applications of a blowtorch. "Anyway," Kremzeek says, getting things back on topic. "We have a lot of work to do in peace. We need more of it! Less fighting. But still a bit of fighting for galactic television rating purposes. But not too much. But not too little! Just right amount." Kremzeek gives another thumbs up to the crowd. "Now the games are officially open. Combat bracket matches can start, but only when cameras are rolling please! Also foot race will begin on Thrull. I hope everyone is able to breathe smoke. Ha ha ha! Ok that is all." A massive fireworks display goes off, followed by some more jet fighters flying overhead. As well, the Olympic Committee releases a flock of a dozen penguins. The penguins waddle around a bit. The crowd cheers, with some people starting to get up and go. Some are heading to their hotels or to Grand Central Station to watch the race via television, and others are going to go watch it live. Hobo pays no attention to the question directed at him by Sky Lynx, nor the fact that someone else seems to be gradually working their way closer to him. "And so ended the time for words, to be followed soon by action. And they came from far and wide, to bring honor to their faction. And though this was intended in the spirit of competition, there soon would follow a more dangerous mission." Redshift isn't going to clap for the useless human unless he's forced to. He busies himself with chugging from his tankard while the minimal applause for Shawn Berger rolls through the statium. Redshift bolts to his feet as the announcement for the foot race is made. "Aha! About time. Head to the lava planet to watch my imminent victory!" The scene segues into the first event, the foot race!